


A Hollow Pantomime

by AetherealFractal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Grace Kink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Substance Abuse, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherealFractal/pseuds/AetherealFractal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is falling and the world is ending one sordid nightmare at a time. This is an endverse fic told mostly from Castiel's POV. (Will edit when put up more chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hollow Pantomime

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't worked out how long this will be yet. I suppose we will find out. Hopefully when I have worked out what I'm doing with it a little more I will be able to update regularly (uncertain on predicted frequency).

_Crickets are loud tonight._

The air is still and the sound of their relentless chirping is carrying from... My thoughts pause. Feeling uneasy I clench and unclench Jimmy's hands, feeling my wings move in a similar way.

 _I should know this._ Usually I would not only know where the sound was coming from or how many crickets were participating but I usually, usually I know the rate of their movement, the decibel of their reverberation. But not tonight.

Tonight they are crickets making noise somewhere in the grass.

I shut down the rising panic. _I am just overthinking it. I am just... Tired_ rings loud and clear through my mind. This thought I also brush away. _I can't afford to be distracted. Not tonight. Dean and Sam asked me to be here. They need my help. My... It can wait. I have time._

"Cas?" Sam's voice seems quieter, somehow... Less. Far less resonant or defined than I had come so used to hearing from him. The sound that makes Sam so distinctly _Sam_ to me, tonight, feels uncomfortably muted.

Perhaps it is merely the way the sound carries, or doesn't, in the damp air, the reason his voice sounded so muffled to me. Or perhaps the sound waves are reflecting away from me. Or they are being absorbed in some way by the trees that surround us.

A breeze picks up, rustling the branches.

 _Or the breeze. Maybe it is just that._ Smiling to myself, though it feels more akin to a grimace, I roll a small rock beneath Jimmy's shoe. I resist the urge to cup my vessel's ears as though by doing so I would find the answers I need.

I hear the shortened version of my name again, only this time somehow more brief. Sharper. I turn, silently berating myself for losing focus. _Maybe I am just. Tired._ There it is. That word again. A word I almost feel in a vibration that passes through me. As though it could only be the truth.

I look Sam in the eye and nod, starting toward the barn. He turns to head in the same direction, pulling out his phone. The crunch of shoes against gravel seems louder to me in comparison to other sounds in the night.

 _Surely we should be moving quieter,_  I find myself thinking, though Sam seems distracted by his phone and his steps are heavier than mine. Still, I attempt to adjust the pace I move at in a bid to cut down my own contribution to what I suspect is a racket.

As we walk I wonder why, if the sound of our footfalls is so distinctly present (and one could perhaps even argue, so acutely resonant), then why had I not heard Sam's approach sooner?

In the midst of my reverie I catch sight of my vessel's hand as we walk in the dark, a deep red marking the back of it. Suddenly self conscious I shake the arm slightly and grip the end of the coat sleeve a little too tightly. _Everything is fine. I am okay, really._ I try to convince myself that it isn't anything to worry about, that it's just dried blood and it might not even be Jimmy's anyway.

I swallow as the material rubbing lightly against the gash sends an uncomfortable burn through the back of my vessel's hand.

We get closer to the barn and I am able to make out Dean's silhouette in the lanky shroud of moonlight. Head bent, he fiddles with a crowbar held loosely in his hands.

"What took you so long?" Dean says gruffly. He slips a hand from the pocket of his jeans and straightens.

It takes a time for me to realise he is looking at me for an answer. "Oh. I was-" I cut myself short, frowning as I register something being tossed from one brother to the next. _Shotgun shells?_

"Kidnapped thirteen year old, demons, five teenagers disappeared from this barn two nights ago," Dean growls and steps forward as he speaks, making motions with his hands to emphasise his words. "Did you get my text?"

 _Of course I did._ "What are you...?" I trail off. What I had at first thought (had been so convinced) was a crowbar turns out to be a shotgun. Needless to say my brow furrows further.

Dean shakes his head and waves dismissively, indicating irritation. I feel myself bristle at this, though I do nothing but frown to myself, again, further still would that were possible.

Unconsciously tilting my vessel's head to the side I watch the hunter move toward the barn door. For a fleeting moment I worry that it will be locked and he'll ask me to open it. This thought catches me off-guard, though I am quick to shake it. _I can't afford to do this. Not yet. Focus, Castiel._

There is a feint metallic clunk and loud wooden groaning as the older Winchester unbolts and pushes the door open. Releasing the breath I didn't know I was holding, I follow them inside.


End file.
